Crimson Flowers Blooming
by brandeee
Summary: There were reasons why the relationship between Urahara and Yoruichi was... strained. UraYoru... sort of.
1. Prelude

A/N: This is my first chapterfic in over a year; I hope I've done well, but at any rate, any advice you'd be willing to give would be greatly appreciated.

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_But even the blemished part isn't  
unembellished truth.  
The darker truth  
is what's confided. Her whisper  
whispers through me now:_ Come here little one...  
Come here 'till I tell you.  
– _Elizabeth Oness_

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**Prelude**

It was a turbulent spring that bloomed the year after the Arrancar War finally crumbled in on itself and expired in a thing that most would call victory. This year, it began to rain too early and too heavily, and seemed to have no intention of stopping. The air was warm for early spring, but far too windy; high lords and ladies in the Seireitei bemoaned lost accessories that had been stolen away from them by a heavy gale, and a maple tree had apparently been uprooted and crushed part of Seventh's office space. Trees and branches were toppled in Rukongai, too, and poor women could be seen wandering out on the roads, looking for firewood to warm the still-cold nights. One such woman, her hair up in knot the wind was doing its utmost to untangle, was headed for a promising looking grove of cedars whose tops were shivering with today's weather: heavy wind and a light, persistent rain that promised to continue indefinitely.

As she walked, she noticed two very peculiar things. The first of these was that the cedars surrounded a house. This in and of itself wasn't unusual, although she felt a stab of envy at the thought of being able to have a real house, not her two-room shack near the noisy fish market. She had never seen a house so thoroughly strange before, though, and at first wondered if her eyes were deceiving her. It was very tall and thin, with a smokestack that towered even higher than its trunk; whoever built it must have been quite the architect, because it was standing up to the wind surprisingly well. The whole thing was painted a vivid blue and decorated with a pattern of giant black dragons that looked to have been hewn out of stone. The woman had never wandered this far out into the country before, and wasn't sure what to think. What was this place? Should she just turn around now and go home?

It was as she was considering this, however, that she realized the second strange thing about this place: something was watching her. She found herself unable to say how she knew this, since whatever it was made not the slightest ripple of sound, but she was sure it was there. The skin on the back of her neck crawled and prickled, and the feel of the wind through her hair chilled her. She had stopped walking altogether now, holding the bundle of branches she had already gathered limply at her side. _No, please no, please just go away..._

Something brushed against her leg, and she screamed.

The woman turned and fled, dropping the wood she had gathered in the process and not caring. The bundle bounced, and twigs and small branches snapped apart in a series of small noises. Eventually, it settled, and the sound of running feet faded away into the distance. The branches sat on their own now, loosely bound with thin brown string, a gray-brown pile on a winding little road of no particular color.

Then, something moved amongst the bundle, as though the wood had fallen on it and it was just now regaining its senses. None of the peasant woman's friends believed her when she told them of the strange creature that had accosted her on a lonely road, but perhaps they would have thought different if they had seen the dark shape that crept out from under the firewood. Even then, though, they would not have attained any certainty, for whatever the creature was, it moved like lightning; in a split-second it was leaping away towards the strange house in the cedars.

It moved like oil, or maybe like smoke made liquid; whichever, it was too fast for the eye to truly follow, and it would appear to the casual viewer to be a curious black streak gliding through the air, barely touching ground. It spiraled through the trees, not breaking a single branch. It was very light, and could almost have been blown away by the wind, but it moved with a speed and purpose that wind alone could never hope to match.

It reached the house, with its ornamental dragons and towering chimney, and paused, perhaps considering its situation. It was quite small for something that could make a full-grown woman turn and flee in fear; it looked to weigh less than all but the smallest of young children. Its eyes were narrow and yellow, a common color for the eyes of an animal; yet there was something unusual waiting behind them. All in all, it was a beguiling creature.

Apparently having reached a decision, it crept up to a window, eased it open with one paw, and slid inside with no noise other than that the window made. It glided through rooms unnoticed, once even slipping between the ankles of a young man who felt uneasy for a moment, then quickly decided it must have been his imagination.

Finally, it found the room it was looking for. A woman was sitting with her back to the door, her legs crossed at the ankle. She had lit a fire, even though it was neither particularly dark nor cold; the flames threw uneven shadows against the wall. One of them, however, darker and somehow sleeker than the others, moved more purposefully. It slunk towards her, taking its time now, its eyes glowing brilliant gold in the firelight. It was just a few paces from her, almost close enough to claw away the rat's tail of untidy black hair that was flung down her back. It leapt, claws just bare inches from her skin–

"Hello, Yoruichi."

–And slid over her lap like silk, finally settling on the floor across from her. The woman regarded it critically, her mouth twisted into a frown, but there was a smile of some sort in her green eyes.

"You gonna tell me what's going on, or am I gonna have to sit here all night and watch you mope?"

The cat looked away for a second, and then, without warning, did something more unusual than any of its other feats. Amidst a cloud of pearly smoke that seemed to appear from nowhere, it turned into a tall, dark-skinned woman with hair that reached down to the small of her back. The only vestige she retained of her feline form was the color of her eyes; these were a striking amber color.

But today, for all their potential beauty, they were not pleasant eyes to look into, for they were brimming with worry and a dark hint of bitterness. Nevertheless, she smiled, and even if it didn't reach her eyes, at least it was a response.

"You moved again, so I had to come looking for you."

"Sorry," said the other woman, not looking sorry at all.

"A woman dropped a bunch of sticks on me today, Kuukaku."

"And you didn't try to avoid them? It's your own damn fault, then, don't expect me to feel sorry for you. Shunshin indeed."

Silence reigned again for a few more minutes, while the one called Kuukaku lit a pipe and then blew smoke into Yoruichi's face. She appeared not to mind. Kuukaku looked exasperated.

"What happened?"

"Nothing." Yoruichi's answer was surprisingly swift, as though she were attempting to outrun the other's line of questioning.

"Don't give me that shit, you came here for something. You always do."

"Nothing. I mean, that's what happened. That stupid son of a bitch. I think I could kill him, Kuukaku, I really do. _Nothing_."

"You're not making sense. Now c'mon, spit it out, whatever it is."

_Spit it out._ Now there was an interesting turn of phrase, for it implied that whatever the matter was, it was something not really connected to her, something that she could simply extract and be done with. And _that_ was precisely the problem. Keeping with the analogy, the thing that had gotten her into this state in the first place had already spread through her blood and twined itself around her heart; it was at once a poison and a part of herself. _Why not tell someone dying of cancer to just rip out every organ it's spread to– it'll work just as well._

But you had to start somewhere, didn't you?

"Remember everything that happened in 1896?"

"Hell yeah, I do. I was still kinda little back then, but Nii-san told me everything that happened."

Yoruichi smiled, somehow looking more distressed than before.

"...I don't think he told you quite _everything._"

She had committed herself then, she realized. Kuukaku was curious now, and she was going to squeeze out all of the ugly little secrets no matter what. Yoruichi paused, took a breath, and started to tell, for once, the truth. And it did hurt.

_Ah, but we're no strangers to hurt... are we, Kisuke?_


	2. 1895

A/N: Hi there. First ( well, technically second, but whatever ) chapter up! Remember what I said about liking reviews? Yeah, please tell me what you think, whether you like it or not. Reviews are really helpful, thanks.

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_Hanging close I live in the beloved bone_

_Speaking in the marrow_

_alive in green memory_

–_Meridel LeSueur_

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**1. 1895**

It was the twenty-fifth of May in 1895. It had been a quiet year, or at least as quiet a year as Soul Society was ever graced with. Oh sure, Second was undergoing a major reorganization, giving the perhaps foolish taichou and fukutaichou who had instigated it their fair share of headaches; Eighth's former fukutaichou had retired to care for his ailing wife, and had been replaced by some splendid young prodigy just out of the Academy; the taichou of Ninth had become convinced that people were stealing his fundoshi, much to his subordinates' chagrin... But these were unimportant things; surely the famed Shihouin and Soifon could handle a little more paperwork, and Eighth's fukutaichou was settling in quite well, and Ninth's taichou had always been a little... peculiar.

So what else, wondered the ominous triad of Kyouraku, Kurosaki, and Urahara, was there to do to liven up a dull year than to throw a party of epic proportions? Somebody– probably Kyouraku, or perhaps Shiba-kun– had convinced Ukitake Juushirou into volunteering the main building of Thirteenth for this excess; Yoruichi could do little but sigh and think that she would never allow the property of _her_ Division to be misused like this. Not to mention that if it ever was, Soifon would probably try to bite the party-goers to death; if ever there was a girl who liked order, it was she.

In perfect fairness, the party was indeed impressive. Thirteenth's courtyard was littered with a sundry mix of shinigami, from famous lords and ladies of the upper nobility, to taichou and their favored adjutants, to unfamiliar members of unspecified Divisions. Kuchiki Byakuya, Yoruichi knew, was sitting primly on one of the upper storeys, not looking very happy. She wondered if somebody had forced him into coming, and speculated with Shiba-kun about the possibility that he would throw the sort of cold, arrogant fit that was the closest this great lord of the Kuchiki ever got to a temper tantrum, leaving early and maligning Thirteenth as an irresponsible Division.

Shiba-kun shrugged, noncommital. "I never know what in the hell he's gonna do. I don't think he likes me, to be honest."

Yoruichi couldn't help but laugh at that. "Doesn't like you? I think he regards you as being something of a lesser species, Shiba-kun."

"Eh, his loss. He doesn't have to be such an ass all the time, you know. It's hardly a surprise that nobody who isn't gaga for him can stand to be around him."

That, she would realize later, was what she liked about Shiba Kaien: he was honest, in a brutal yet somehow good-natured way. The first time she realized this, she was lonely and living in exile, and she mourned he occasion in her heart. The second time, there was no more mourning to be done; Shiba Kuukaku and Ganju and some poor too-young little girl of the Kuchiki family that had so amused Shiba-kun had already taken on the burden of it. In retrospect, that might have been just as well, because by that point, Yoruichi did not know just how much more breaking her heart could take before she simply gave up and allowed it to shatter completely.

Back at the great party of '95, her heart still unbroken and her soul still strong, Yoruichi excused herself to find something to eat. Kisuke had promised– _promised_– there would be some great and exciting variety of canapes to be had at this party of his; perhaps it was unbefitting of her rank, but she was delighted in her hunger to find out that he had been telling the truth.

Later, she would wish that he would only learn to save to truth for more important things than party favors.

It was as she wandering back through the courtyard, nibbling absentmindedly on something that was most likely pork and was certainly good, that she saw him. She wove a path easily through the throng of people, most of them simply standing and chatting with others of their class, her footsteps feather-light on the gray paving stones underfoot, which were still warm with the day's heat even though the sun had been down for more than an hour now. A minor shinigami of Thirteenth was scurrying around, lighting brightly-colored lanterns in the darkness, and Yoruichi was forced to admit with a crooked little half-smile that at least when her friends decided to get wasted, they did so with some serious style.

Kisuke was lounging in the shadow of a statue of a very stern-looking man that seemed out of place among the festivities.

"I was wondering where I'd find you," she said, sliding out of one of the black shadows the statue so conveniently provided.

"Making good use of your many skills, I see. Yoruichi, can you help me with something?" he asked, half toasting her and half trying to take a drink; a bad combination if there ever was one, and one that left him trying to wipe up the sake that had run down his front before it did something horrible to his clothing.

"This guy," he said, gesturing to the statue that towered over him, and which seemed to be giving him a look of disinterested disapproval. "Who is he?"

"I don't know. Does it matter?"

Kisuke paused for a second, glancing up at her with what he probably thought was his most piercing look. Finally, he sighed and admitted, "Not at all!"

"Then why did you ask me?" she huffed, again half-smiling, already knowing the answer, or at least as much of an answer as there ever was.

"I just like hearing the sound of your voice."

"You're terrible. Anyway, don't you have work of some sort to be doing?" she queried, knowing that there was certainly no answer to this question. It was perhaps a silly question for her, of all people, to ask; the truth was that neither of them had actually _worked_ a day in their lives; they simply did that which came easily to them and few others.

"I_do_ have work!" He sounded absurdly proud of this for somebody who had been Soul Society's most prodigious inventor since before most of the shinigami at this party had even been born. "I was just telling– Hey, where'd he go?"

At that moment, as though the whole night had been choreographed, Eighth's fukutaichou, the apparently ingenious young man with medium-length blond hair and a ridiculous smile on his face, appeared as if out of nowhere.

"I'm baaaack– _shit_," he blurted as he accidentally tipped a cup of something violently pink he had been holding too far, splashing it all over the cobblestones. Even in her human form, Yoruichi's sense of smell was almost unrivaled in Soul Society, and she crinkled her nose at the smell of the drink; at least its color was truth in advertising, because it even _smelled_ nauseatingly pink.

She tried to ignore this, however, as they were introduced; fukutaichou, taichou and commander of the Secret Remote Squad; very pleased to meet you, another splash of spilled pink and a hasty apology.

"Anyway, as I was just saying, we just launched a couple of new projects, and Kurotsuchi actually stayed behind to work on..."

She never heard exactly what was being cooked up in Twelfth, at least not until it was far, far too late to do anything to fix what had already been so badly broken. At that moment, Shiba-kun tapped her on the shoulder, saying that he would have to duck out early for Miyako's sake, sorry. It was understandable, to say the least; Shiba Miyako was already six months pregnant, and her constitution was apparently taking it worse than expected. Yoruichi was a little surprised that she had come at all. It was a pleasant surprise though, even if the two had only talked briefly earlier in the evening.

A golden sliver of the waxing moon gazed down on them, and in its beneficent light, all seemed pleasant and hopeful. At the time, Yoruichi wouldn't have guessed, even with Unohana's stern warnings as confided by Shiba-kun, that in the rapidly approaching August, she would stand with her eyes downcast, pointless sorrowful words spilling from her lips; she would be one of a more sedate and smaller throng offering the Shiba their condolences on the stillborn baby.

And that was only the start, because if this year was simply tinged with sadness at its corners, the next would unfold like a blood red chrysanthemum, each petal revealing one more obvious, stupid horror.

One, two, three, four... how many were there, really? It all depended on who you were, and how much you knew. And even Yoruichi, who knew far too much, would eventually discover that there was still some little detail left hidden in the darkness, too horrible to touch, but too tantalizing to look away from.

Even under the carefree moon, the evil little crimson flowers of things to come were beginning to bloom. There was the first of Kisuke's new projects; why he thought an untraceable gigai was a good idea she never knew, or at least, not until the Kuchiki girl showed up and it became useful. Then there was the other one, the mystery compound of the Hougyoku. Combine these two things with his attitude when they put him on trial, and it wasn't surprising he got the sentence he did.

More than that, there was the bitterness, unnoticed at the time, that he fostered in Yoruichi, the ambivalence. Many years later, although she tried not to think of herself in such a way, she would be forced to admit that she shared something in common with the greatest of the Kuchiki: she too was never quite sure whether it was worth it to break the law for one you only half-loved.

And there was the other thing. Urahara Kisuke, arrested and tried for the creation of two highly illegal items, both potentially dangerous to Soul Society...

...And for the murder of Eighth's promising young fukutaichou, with his silly haircut and his silly smile, who apparently died rather horribly and took a large swathe of Northern Seireitei with him, leaving behind nothing but ashes and rubble and the taste of bitterness.


	3. As the Moon Set

A/N: Honestly, I'm not entirely happy with this chapter. I've been over it quite a few times and tried to fix it, but it still feels awkward to me. So anyway, if it's awkward to you too... I apologize. Also, thanks to gaara'sonmymind for reviewing the previous two chapters.

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_I bring it all into my house._

_It slides around the doors,_

_under the beds._

_It is pungent _

_and obsessive._

–_Cary Waterman_

2. As the Moon Set

Shihouin Yoruichi sat, legs folded beneath her, still as a rock, watching the moon set outside her window, a page from the transcript of Kisuke's trial clutched in one hand.

_Urahara: (shrugs) I don't know. Why don't you ask somebody else?_

_Questioner Higurashi: I'm asking you. Answer the question. _

_Yamamoto: Answer, or I'll have you removed; you may be tried in absentia. _

_Urahara: I'm trying to tell you, I still don't know. It was an experimental compound; I can only really guess what its reactions to certain stimuli are. If I guessed wrong... it must have evaporated._

_Questioner Higurashi: Why do you say that?_

_Urahara: Well, you didn't find it, did you? It doesn't actually take a genius to figure out that something else must have happened to it. _

_Questioner Higurashi: And you have no prior knowledge about the reactions of this compound?_

_Urahara: Of course not. Why did you think I had to test it? _

_Ooi: Shut up, somebody shut him up!_

_Yamamoto: Sit down, Ooi-san; this is your final– _

_Ooi: Sit down?! Soutaichou, he killed my nii-san; he killed----_

She had been over the transcript again and again, like a moth beating repetitively against a lamp, trying in vain to reach the fire within. Reading it was like attempting to talk to the patients in some of the more 'special' wards of Fourth: individual words were clearly present, but the overall meaning refused to shift into a focus that she could understand.

Soifon was walking around in the hallway outside; although she slunk through the shadows and made less sound than a hare, Yoruichi could hear her footfalls and see the delicate black silhouette more clearly than she sensed the sheaf of paper sitting on the writing desk before her. Some things just made sense; others never would.

Soifon's shadow, the way it crept along when she thought she was being really sneaky, was familiar, and disturbing in its familiarity. On the other side of this wall, she thought, is somebody for whom life was still completely normal. It would be devastatingly easy, she knew, to reach out and snatch at her fukutaichou, who was now moving in a clumsy, mock-delicate manner across the ceiling; it was just a pity that there was no way of grasping the other's normalcy.

Yoruichi turned away from the slickly moving shadow outside, looking back to the loose layer of thin paper that coated the glossy maple of her desk. She didn't know if she could bear to look at her fukutaichou right now.

Oh, it wasn't Soifon's fault, not really. The girl had attended Kisuke's trial as a representative for the Secret Remote Squad and for Second, and had done so out of diligence, out of dedication and of duty. It was duty to Soul Society, though, and that was precisely the normalcy that Yoruichi found herself lacking in: after so many lifetimes of serving Soul Society, she suddenly found her fukutaichou's unwavering allegiance to it just barely short of offensive. It was simple; although Yoruichi had not attended the trial, she knew that if she had, Soifon would have assumed it was out of duty to all their laws and systems, not to any particular person in and of himself.

Soifon, for all her devotion, would never credit her taichou with actual feelings.

As for the reason why Soifon had gone in Yoruichi's place ( all the other Division representatives were taichou, after all ), it was quite simple: Yoruichi had been dispatched on a suddenly urgent mission that day. And it was simple, she knew, because even though it _was_ a Menos attacking that island, and an adjuchas class one at that, it wasn't a particularly smart one, and surely Yamamoto knew that Soifon would have been perfectly capable of handling it on her own. The simple, bitter little truth was that the soutaichou didn't trust Yoruichi, not completely, not while the Council of Forty-Six was pursuing her oldest and dearest friend for a variety of capital crimes. Maybe he was right not to trust her, because no matter how vicious that Menos had been, in retrospect, it probably hadn't really been necessary to shred it into quite so small of pieces...

It was obsessive, and she knew it, the way she reread every sentence of the report, but just knowing that didn't mean she could break the fascination it held for her. Unlike her main compatriots, she had never had any particular addiction, so it was a slightly unfamiliar feeling. Her fingers flicked through the pages compulsively, as though they were doing it of their own volition, not in any relation to her own will. She flipped randomly to a page, and began to read.

_Questioner Higurashi: One final question, Kyouraku-taichou. Did the accused ever ask your permission to use the decedent in his experiment? _

_Kyouraku: Well, no, I guess he didn't. _

_Questioner Higurashi: Thank you, Kyouraku-taichou. You may step down._

Outside, there was a noise as would perhaps be made by a small pillow being turned over; Yoruichi, despite her concentration, cringed a little to hear it; it rang in her ears like a gunshot and she knew it was the sound of Soifon slipping from her precarious hold on one of the light fixtures and barely saving herself from collapsing in an inelegant heap on the floor ( and how many times had she tried to explain this to her subordinates: it was no good walking on the furniture if you were just going to fall over afterwards ).

As she noticed her impromptu critique of Soifon's motions, she felt just of tinge of that old prosaicness flow back into her; it felt good until the moment she looked down to see that her slender fingers had already chosen another random sheet, another little morsel for her to allow to fester in the back of her mind.

_Questioner Higurashi: Please state your name for the record._

_Kurotsuchi: Kurotsuchi Mayuri. _

_Questioner Higurashi: And your position?_

_Kurotsuchi: Fukutaichou of Twelfth. _

_Questioner Higurashi: What involvement, if any, did you have in the creation of the defective gigai?_

_Questioner Takashi: And the Hougyoku, don't forget the Hougyoku._

_Questioner Higurashi: What? Oh, yes, of course, and the Hougyoku? _

_Kurotsuchi: I'm sorry to say it, but I was involved with all of it; practically all of the ranked officers in the Division were. _

_Questioner Higurashi: Were you aware– at the time– that your conduct was illegal in the extreme? _

_Kurotsuchi: (affirms) Of course I was; we all were. _

_Questioner Higurashi: Then why did you continue your research? _

_Kurotsuchi: It's not like we had any choice. We had to do whatever he said; he was in charge, after all. There's still a lot of stuff that none of us knows; he never told us the real purpose behind any of this... Yamamoto-soutaichou, Higurashi-sama, I hate to interrupt, but you have to allow our Division to question him further! We have the research, or at least we will if you ever declassify it, but I know there's something else going on...! _

_Questioner Higurashi: Yamamoto-soutaichou?_

_Yamamoto: Respond to the questions being asked, Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou. We'll consider your petition later after the verdict has been handed out. _

_Kurotsuchi: But we're the only scientists capable of deciphering this! Soutaichou, I–_

_Yamamoto: Kurotsuchi! _

_Questioner Higurashi: I have no further questions for this witness, Soutaichou. _

_Kurotsuchi: Soutaichou. _

And then there was this, and here the edges of the page were crumpled; Yoruichi had come back to this page many times:

_Unohana: Fourth has nothing to say on this matter, save that we have strict ethical rules on experimentation; they have certainly been breached here. _

_Yamamoto: Dismissed. Second and Secret Remote Squad? _

_Fon: Nothing, Soutaichou._

_Nothing._ Yoruichi traced the word unconsciously with the tip of her finger. Second had nothing to say, not even when surely everybody knew by then what the verdict was going to be? Perhaps it had been a blessing after all that she herself had not been present, because she knew in her heart of hearts that she would have found herself saying the exact same thing as Soifon. At least this way, she could take refuge in the knowledge that it was her fukutaichou that had said it, her fukutaichou who had no particular connection to Kisuke; this way, she could at least pretend she didn't feel like a traitor.

She skimmed past the verdict and sentencing; she would have known what they were even had she never bothered to read them. She had read them though, over and over again a few nights ago. She wasn't really surprised when tears began to prick at the corners of her eyes, obscuring _Urahara_ and _Forty-Six_ and _Soukyoku_ and touching up everything with a score of fleeting rainbows; however, she also wasn't really surprised to look in a mirror afterward and see that she certainly didn't _look_ like a person who had been crying.

Then there was the last bit, the bid Kurotsuchi and apparently most of the rest of Twelfth's officers had made for questioning rights, and which they had apparently won. That sounded ominous no matter how she put it to herself, but the truth was, she couldn't really make head or tails of it.

It_sounded_ a hell of a lot like torture, but she was unsure of how much they could really do. They couldn't possibly hurt him too badly, because Kisuke would have to at least look presentable, or surely there would be inquiries. And no matter what Fourth's opinions on the coming execution were, it seemed unlikely that Unohana would agree to be party to anything that Kurotsuchi was cooking up in that mind of his. Of course there were always ways of making sure no marks showed... but she didn't buy it, not with Kurotsuchi involved. She had seen what he did in his free time, for crying out loud, and afterwards she had to thank Kisuke for a look around the inside of Twelfth, but decline his offer of lunch. If that man decided to torture somebody, she thought, the subject of his dubious ministrations certainly wouldn't be fit for public examination afterward.

So that left her with... what, exactly? It skirted around the edges of her mind, subtler and quicker than Soifon as she prowled along outside. And yet... she had a feeling, just the barest feeling, that she could catch it she really wanted to. _But if you catch it... that means you'll have to look at it, Yoruichi. There's something really obvious, isn't there? And it's not something you're missing, either. It's something you've skimmed over, pretended you have covered... but the truth is, even if you won't look at it, you can feel the hole in your argument; it's eating away at you..._

_No, stop it, shut up. _

This was Kisuke's mess, Kisuke's stupidity. What did he expect when he hired as his second-in-command a man he knew to be unstable, he knew to be downright dangerous? Didn't he know that, given the opportunity, Kurotsuchi would turn on him in a second?

The thought should have at least given her some self-righteous satisfaction, but she was too exhausted to feel it. She was pretty sure she was too exhausted to feel anything; she resolved to burn the transcript in the morning so she could finally get some sleep.

And yet, even through her haze of tiredness, the little hairs on the back of her neck prickled and stood on end, and the thing she was refusing to look at slipped through the back of her mind with the stealthy, disconcerting rippling of a small fish through still water.

Outside the window, the moon continued to set.


	4. Hidden Treasure

A/N: Unfortunately, neither Urahara nor Yoruichi makes an appearance in this chapter. But Aizen-sama has a fairly big cameo, which... sort of makes up for it, I hope. And yes, the idea of Fifth being in charge of investigations is completely made up, and has no basis whatsoever in canon. And again, thanks to everybody who reviewed, and sorry for the semi-late update. _  
_

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_ Black are the willows against the horizon,_

_Darker the mind where ambition lurks;_

_Ashes of gold and gray dust of oblivion_

_Are all that remain of a man and his works._

_– Nan Fitz-Patrick_

**3. Hidden Treasure**

Ooi Kaida, the sister of Eighth's deceased fukutaichou, was walking amidst the rubble. She was of the minor nobility by marriage; the Ooi family had managed to make something of a name for itself, even if her own family of origin had not. Not until her brother, that was. There had been shinigami in her family before, sure enough, but they had all been like her: destined for a low rank and the rather menial slaying of minor Hollows. There had been a shock she would remember for the rest of her life on the faces of her relatives when he was appointed to the position of fukutaichou fresh out of the Academy, and they didn't even know that a few months later, he had managed to achieve bankai.

No matter what the official status of Ooi's family was, however, today she looked like somebody who had emerged from the highest-numbered districts of Rukongai. Her golden blonde hair was unbrushed, and it floated randomly in a mock halo around her head. She had dressed in a hurry, and it showed; the usually neat appearance of her clothing was today disheveled almost beyond the point of recognition.

She was wandering through what had been, just a week prior, a collection of manors and offices that made up one of Northern Seireitei's many neighborhoods. There was no one living here now, however. Where there had so recently been a collection of the lordly white towers that were the Seireitei's preferred form of architecture, there was now a massive pile of rubble. The place looked as if a bomb had gone off, and although Ooi would never allow herself to follow that train of thought to its conclusion, that was in a sense exactly what happened.

Investigators from Fifth were walking up and down the ruined streets; what precisely they were looking for, Ooi neither knew nor cared. There was only one question she wanted answered.

Just as she was wondering who the proper person to ask would be, there came an interruption from the main street in the form of Fifth's taichou. Although neither Ooi nor any of her relations were members of Fifth, she nevertheless recognized its taichou instantly. Aizen-taichou was famous throughout the entirety of the Seireitei, although if Ooi had ever stopped to consider why this was, she would have found herself quite unable to say.

Aizen Sousuke had graduated from the Academy top of his class. Although he seemed to possess no particularly impressive skills, he was hard-working and likeable; he fit into Soul Society's system perfectly and somehow managed to command instant respect. He had risen to power naturally and easily; Fifth's former taichou had died suddenly and unfortunately when she somehow failed to spot a massive Hollow that snuck up on her from behind, and by the time the other taichou had ratified their decision to promote him, Aizen had already been running Fifth perfectly for nigh on three weeks.

Knowing instinctively that he would help her, Ooi approached him.

"E-excuse me, Aizen-taichou, I'm sorry to bother you, but I needed–"

He glanced up at her, looking surprised for a split second, then smiling warmly. "Ah, you're Ooi-san. I saw you at the trial, of course; I'd be happy to be able to help you any way I can."

She bowed her head, blushing in appreciation of his kindness. "I need to know... have you found my nii-san's body anywhere? My... my family really needs to know, Aizen-taichou, and nobody's told us anything, and..." She burst out in fresh tears, something she had promised herself she wouldn't do.

"That's okay, I understand completely. Come over here and we'll talk about it," he said; as he did so, he turned to his fukutaichou and called out, "Tousen, please see to Squad Three, you know how Mori's come down with something..."

A few moments later, Aizen was explaining the situation to Ooi. "We haven't found anything. It's not surprising really; with conditions like this, such things can and do happen. Of course we'll keep searching, and we'll tell you if we find anything at all of interest to you."

"Aizen-taichou?"

"Hm?"

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Of course, Ooi-san."

"What happened to him, really? We all know it was that... it was Urahara's fault, but nobody can even tell me what actually happened to my nii-san!"

Aizen paused at this, perhaps considering. Then, very slowly, he started to explain.

"Ooi-san, the fact of the matter is, nobody knows for sure. That's why we're still investigating. It would help us a lot if we could only find the Hougyoku; then Twelfth could analyze it and figure out exactly what it does. As you probably know, Urahara refused to tell anybody; I believe he's been taken in for further questioning; hopefully we'll get some answers then. Of course, we could presumably piece it together from the written records of his research, but the Council is still keeping those classified. Intra-organizational bureaucracy and all of that. Still, I'll tell you when I know anything pertinent."

"Thank you, Aizen-taichou."

They went their separate ways after that, Ooi walking back to her home where her husband was waiting, looking more worried than ever over her condition; Aizen continued supervising the investigation. As he did this, he strolled along through the streets that were still viable; he had always found that walking helped him think.

It was true, Urahara's research was locked away in some vault in the Immaculate Tower Grove; nobody else would be allowed to know what this Hougyoku did until such time as the Council saw fit to release the information. Was that important, though? At first, upon hearing the news that Urahara had created a device of such extraordinary power, he had to admit that his heart had fluttered a little; this could prove to be a vital asset in his plans. The more he thought about it, though, the more he realized that if this device had taken out so much of the city, it was very likely because Urahara himself had been unable to control it properly. No, subtlety was to be much preferred over the possibility of blowing yourself up with your own weapon. Besides, his own research was centered around Hollows; what use could he possibly have for what appeared to be a giant, rather unmanageable bomb? Or course, if he was ever able to get his hands on Urahara's papers, it would be prudent to double-check. But for now...

Handing this thing over to Soul Society's government might not be such a bright move either. For now, maybe Fifth didn't have to look for it all _that_ hard. Aizen smiled to himself; everything was in order.

* * *

At that very moment, in the world of the living, a boy and girl were tramping up a winding path that led through a remote forest. Few people lived up here; they had been walking for two days straight and had yet to sense anyone nearby.

The boy was tired, and he expressed this by dropping the pack he was carrying and falling over with a soft _thud._ He was exhausted; he did not look to be much more than five years of age, and he had yet to acquire the sort of stamina that would make this journey bearable.

Nevertheless, the girl turned to glare at him as he fell. She was a good five or six years older than him, with a rats' nest of hair and a bruise the size of an apple plastered across one arm. If the bruise hurt her at all, she gave no indication of it, just as she was ignoring the numerous scratches she had received from traveling through parts of the forest where there were no convenient paths.

"Hey, what the hell d'you think you're doing, huh?"

"Nee-san, I can't go on any–"

"Shut it!" She slapped him across the face. "Nii-san said we've gotta do this, so you're gonna be quiet for once and just do what he said."

After that, the boy was quiet, and they continued on their way. That night, they camped out in the shelter of a massive oak, from whose branches tree frogs made their strange singing sound in the darkness. The boy's stomach growled with hunger, and he counted the branches on the tree to distract himself from it until he finally dozed off.

The next morning, they continued on their way, the girl occasionally consulting a map given to them by their elder brother. The sunlight was bright that day, shimmering like gold through the branches of the trees overhead, dappling the path underfoot with wavering spots of light. It especially glinted off the glossy, almost lacquered handle of a zanpakutou that protruded from the girl's pack. It was not her zanpakutou; although she did indeed possess such an instrument, hers was tucked into a closet in her home.

This wasn't the only strange item contained within the girl and her brothers' packs; they were both veritable treasure chests full of all sorts of oddities. There were practical things such as any shinigami on the go could be expected to have with them, such as the zanpakutou, a few packages of Soul Candy, a collection of the tools commonly used by members of Twelfth, a few basic reference books. Then, there were other things; here were the basic ingredients needed to make gigai, conveniently distilled into vials of differently colored powders; some books that were hardly basic at all ( such asLife and Habits of the Vasto Lorde, and The Complete Kidou Collection: Levels Eighty-Four Through Ninety-Nine ); a few scraps of paper containing scribbled instructions for making things that would scare most of the government of Soul Society out of their hakama.

The two children eventually reached their destination, a secluded cave that rested behind a grove so thick with underbrush that the cave itself was rendered almost invisible; they searched on hands and knees for the low-lying opening for most of an hour before they found it. Then, depositing the treasure inside, they smoothed the underbrush they had disturbed back over the mouth of the cave, and left a different way than they came.

They were glad to be away from it, even if they were both too proud to admit it. Although the cave itself was natural, there was something about it that was distinctly not: at some point, somebody had lined the walls of it with sekki-seki.

A few hours later, a member of Third passed over the spot on patrol; she sensed nothing, and continued on through the forest.


	5. The Shinigami in the Lake

This is late, and I'm sorry. I feel slightly iffy about this chapter, but it needed to be done. Anyway, now you'll finally find out what on earth's going on with Eighth's fukutaichou. Enjoy!

* * *

_Did he smile his work to see?_

_Did he who made the Lamb make thee?_

–_William Blake_

* * *

**4. The Shinigami in the Lake**

A little over a week before Shihouin Yoruichi sat ensconced in her chambers reading over the trial transcript again and again, something happened in Soul Society that had reverberations across all of the world. Although many would remember that event ( and Fourth spent weeks cleaning up the rubble after Fifth was done investigating ), very few ever came to understand it. Perhaps those who would come to understand it best were not the great courts, or the investigators, or even the scientists; they were in fact people that only a handful of those even in Soul Society knew existed, and even then, they were not known personally.

At the time this strange event occurred, one of those people was perched high in an apple tree, reading a book. She was an oddity, half-Scottish and half descended from some strange Eastern country none of the townsfolk had heard of before they met her father. Yes, she had been strange... but she was even stranger now, because her youngest brother had died over a century ago, and she still looked to be sixteen. She had dark, braided hair, and wore horn-rimmed glasses. Her name was Lisa, after her grandmother.

Giving her name was perhaps an easier task than trying to explain what she was, because she herself could not yet answer that. She knew that she had fallen into the river one day and been sure she would drown; perhaps she had, because after that, nobody looked at her and nobody talked to her. She wandered for some months, she was never sure how many, half-dazed. All the time, she had felt a tearing pain in her chest, as though something were being ripped out. One day, while bathing in a stream, she had looked down and discovered, to her horror, that part of her flesh really had separated from the rest.

She was never able to recall later exactly what happened in the weeks following that, save that she had been determined not to let this continue. Somehow, without knowing quite how she knew it, she perceived that if that circle of flesh that was peeling away ever got ripped out completely, the consequences wouldn't bear thinking about.

There was one other thing she remembered; she remembered meeting herself, or some phantom who looked like her, and doing battle with it. When she woke up, she was lying flat on her back in an unfamiliar clearing, with a sword by her side and a strange man with long, wavy hair looking down at her curiously.

And then... then, everything had settled into a routine. The two of them wandered; there was little else for them to do. They could only make themselves seen to others through great effort, and eventually gave up entirely on this venture; it didn't help that normal people were afraid of what they were able to do, and cursed them away as demons.

Maybe that was what they were, because Lisa could have sworn that her shadow self had called her a shinigami; her father had taught her the superstition about gods of death before he himself died; although she would never have considered herself to be such an ominous thing, the word had been clear enough.

The man's name was Rose, which Lisa thought was a rather odd name for a male; but she had long since stopped worrying about it. Occasionally, they came across monsters that called themselves Hollows; sometimes they killed them, sometimes not. They also would see what were apparently proper shinigami from time to time: men and women dressed in identical flowing black uniforms. Sometimes, shinigami killed Hollows; sometimes, it was the other way round. Either way, Rose and Lisa never stopped to talk to these shinigami, because it was obvious that the shinigami did not possess quite all of the powers they themselves did, and they were wary of revealing how close they were to being Hollows to people apparently dedicated to hunting just the same.

From overheard snippets of conversation from shinigami and Hollows alike, they began to assemble information on the places called Soul Society and Hueco Mundo. Rose knew some Spanish, and was able to translate what Hueco Mundo meant. The shinigami spoke the same language as Lisa's father, and she was usually able to get the general gist of what they were saying, even if her understanding was fractured at best.

So, it was with great trepidation that the two became aware of the same prescient feeling: _something _was coming from Soul Society, coming straight towards them. Lisa dropped her book, crouching lower among the branches of the tree, grasping her zanpakutou so tightly that her knuckles went white. She couldn't bring herself to like the shinigami, despite the possibility that she herself was one, and she didn't feel happy about accepting anything that Soul Society was sending towards them.

Rose looked milder, still sitting crossed-legged at the base of the tree; still, he put down the mandolin he had been playing and cautiously drew his own zanpakutou. They waited, breathless in fear and anticipation.

"Look." Rose saw it first, gesturing at a point just above a tall pine that stood alone at the edge of a nearby lake. At first, Lisa didn't see what it was that he was looking at, but a second later, it resolved itself into a dot that sparkled with what she heard shinigami refer to as reiatsu. It was moving fast; in a few seconds it was going to crash–

"Rose!_Do something!_"

"What– what do you expect me to–"

At that moment, whatever it was landed, with a loud splash and a hissing noise, in the formerly glassy lake beside them. Rose stood up, looking a little ridiculous as he simultaneously tried to jump forward and hold himself back. Lisa leapt down from the tree, inadvertently bringing a few half-ripe apples crashing down with her.

Glancing at each other, they nodded wordlessly and crept down a worn little path that led to the lakeshore. There was a flurry of white water a few yards out, and Lisa was sure she could make out the shape of somebody struggling frantically in its midst. The strange thing was that the figure didn't even seem to be trying to swim; surely even the world's worst swimmer would be able to do better than that in this deathly calm water.

Apparently reaching some sort of decision, Rose leapt out over the lake, landing and balancing in an oddly elegant way on the rippling surface of the water. Above Lisa's shouted protests of "Don't do that!", he reached down and pulled the struggling figure up with him.

It was, to Lisa's surprise, a shinigami, a man wearing their loose black clothing and an armband that identified him as being a fukutaichou– whatever that was, it seemed to be the office of someone very important. In spite of herself, Lisa was intrigued.

The shinigami was still struggling in Rose's grip, eventually breaking away and splashing noisily towards the shore. He was a young man with chin-length blond hair, and he would have looked relatively normal were it not for his bizarre behavior. For a moment, Lisa wondered whether it was possible for shinigami to become rabid, because he looked completely demented. He was babbling something; Lisa caught a few words, but they didn't make much sense. Apparently, Rose was thinking along the same lines her, because he sprinted over and asked,

"What's he saying?"

"Something about... I don't know. He's saying something about something he's dropped; he thought that if he got rid of it, it would stop something from happening, but I guess it didn't. There's a word I've never heard before, something like Hougyoku; I think that's what he's saying he dropped; he's–"

"He's turning into a Hollow, Lisa."

And so the stranger was. His face had somehow become half-transfixed by a Hollow mask, like the ones Rose and Lisa found themselves capable of donning. It was strange-looking, covered in horizontal ridges. He was scratching at it, trying unsuccessfully to pull it off.

"That's almost the same thing that happened to you," Rose commented.

Lisa stared at him. "What? Really?"

"In which case, we should probably do something to stop him going anywhere."

The two looked at each other for a moment, then simultaneously tackled the blond shinigami to the ground.

* * *

A little under an hour later, the three sat in a circle. Each one was bleeding freely; the shinigami had attacked them in his half-Hollow form and tried to tear Rose in half. Lisa was making some makeshift bandages from the linens of a nearby house; she couldn't help but think that everywhere they went, mysterious reports of thieves ended up following them. Very mysterious indeed.

The conversation between them was as slow as could be expected; Lisa turned out to be much worse at actually speaking Japanese than she was at understanding it. On a couple of instances, they ended up staring at each other in exasperation, with Rose looking more and more indignant all the time.

By the end of the day, the only thing Lisa was entirely clear on was the shinigami's name, which was Hirako Shinji ( or was it the other way round? She was beginning to find that she didn't really care ). They camped out in the shade of the apple tree; the next morning they would try to figure out more of what was happening.

* * *

Somewhere, in the uninhabited black crags to the north of Soul Society, the pale lavender crystal of the Hougyoku glimmered in the twilight, completely unharmed. 


	6. The Decision

I'm now changing my update day to Monday. So hopefully I might actually be able to keep on schedule from here on out. Here's hoping, anyway.

* * *

_ I shall be telling this with a sigh_

_Somewhere ages and ages hence:_

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I–_

_I took the one less travelled by,_

_And that has made all the difference. _

–_Robert Frost_

* * *

**5. The Decision**

The sun set out beyond the river. Light faded in every quadrant of Soul Society; the road to the east was dwindling into the darkness; the badlands to the north were as deathly still as ever; the desert in the south hummed with the skeletal nighttime insects that buzzed ominously among the sands. People in Rukongai checked their doors three times before finally succumbing to sleep; there was a feeling in the air that something was not quite right here. The two children who had just come back from their strange mission in the world of the living scrambled through the senkaimon gate into East Rukongai; the boy was so beside himself with tiredness that the only reason he kept going was for fear of his sister ahead of him and the shadows that closed in behind. The night was dark with intentions, and all those with even the faintest inkling of reiatsu felt uneasy. Somewhere, three people were sitting in a circle, two men with blond hair and a young woman with glasses. Yes, there were only three of them. But not for long.

Inside the Seireitei, it was different, as it always was. Perhaps it was due to the sekki-seki that its high gates were fashioned out of, but Soul Society's forbidden city was always as still and calm as the eye of a storm. A light breeze scented the night air, and a few maple leaves fluttered down into a broad parkway. A couple of the Squads from Eleventh were engaged in a street fight, but even this sound did not carry very far without melting into the background.

The other Divisions had closed up for the night. Fifth's investigations were over for the day; even the taichou Aizen, who as of yet had no inkling of the importance of the Hougyoku his Division had been assigned to find, was settling down to sleep. Even if the night was calm, it was somehow not a night for people other than the brazen Eleventh to be out; somewhere beneath its tranquil lullaby, it was hiding razor-sharp teeth.

Even Twelfth, perhaps the most strangely industrious of all, was done for the day. The third and fourth seats left together, looking strangely drawn but still forcing a laugh and promising to get together in an hour for a drink. Kurotsuchi Mayuri left last of all, locking up all his private rooms as he went. He was smiling, and he looked strangely handsome under the blue-white lights of Twelfth.

Many years later, Mayuri would undergo so many bizarre modifications as to become entirely unrecognizable, but in this frozen moment, he was one of the more attractive officers in Soul Society. His eyes were still brown at this point, his hair so dark as to be almost blue. As he locked up the doors, he stopped at one for a long time, speaking to it strange words. An hour or so later, a fly landed on the door; with a small popping noise, it exploded.

* * *

In the dormitories of Second, things were quieter still. The fukutaichou, Soifon, usually the last one up, had fallen asleep early that night. She was much envied by the other officers in Second and the Force, because so personal was her connection with the taichou that their rooms were adjacent, separated only by a small screen. A cup of white tea, her favorite, sat on the floor next to her bed. The taichou had made it for her; as much as she appreciated the gift, she had only been able to take a few sips before she was overcome with an uncanny tiredness. Just over a minute after taking the first sip, she was so deeply asleep that the sound of Yoruichi moving around in the room next door failed to register even in her deepest dreams. 

For her part, Yoruichi had reached a decision. She took a final guilty glance at the unconscious form of Soifon– she didn't know just how final it was– and slid open her window. To distract herself from what she was intending to do, she thought, _Isn't this silly? I'm sneaking out just like a guilty teenager._

She told herself that she was not, absolutely not, going to rescue Kisuke. She was simply going to see how he was, that was all. He had already gotten her in serious trouble with Yamamoto once; she had no desire to get herself in any more trouble for his sake.

The previous incidence had been relatively minor, too; the two of them had broken into First's most secret private library and stolen a book of dark kidou from the early days of Soul Society. Yamamoto himself had caught them at it, and despite their protests that they hadn't actually memorized any of the spells ( Yoruichi suspected this to be a lie, as she had later seen Kisuke scribbling something down on little scraps of paper he refused to show to anyone ), he had them both thrown in jail for three months.

The point was, she didn't want to repeat the experience, and if she actually helped Kisuke escape... She didn't want to live the rest of her life with a price on her head. Even if the they got out of Soul Society alive, they would surely be exiled forever, possibly even hunted down.

No, all things considered, she wanted to avoid that if at all possible.

Still, she had to check. That little flickering fish of doubt that went rippling through the back of her mind demanded it; it whispered to her, _You're not gonna like what you see, Yoruichi._

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought, trying to convince herself that all was still normal. Leaping shadow-like through the trees, she flew through the night, not knowing just what awaited her.


End file.
